


talk some sense to me

by florenceshy



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Comatose, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 17:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florenceshy/pseuds/florenceshy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You reach back to run a hand through your own tied-up hair, originally just a side effect of neglecting your personal grooming, following your own release from the hospital. Now, you keep it long, as a way of affirming to yourself that time has continued to pass since the day you woke up and he didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	talk some sense to me

Two years on, you’re still a little uncomfortable catching the bus, a mild stress reaction as a result of the trauma, is what they tell you. It’s like an itch under your skin, skittering across your nerves to leave you anxious and drumming your fingers against the straps of your backpack, until you reach your stop and you jump out onto the street.  
  
Your bag is weighed down with books, you’ve just come from your afternoon archaeology class and your mind is half-occupied with thoughts of what you’ve learned today. The other half thinks about how much _he_ would have enjoyed it, too.  
  
It’s the middle of summer and you’re beginning to regret your decision to wear your jeans today, the heat is stifling and you swear it’s gotten even hotter since you first boarded the bus. You quickly approach the building in front of you, as you have hundreds of times before and you expel a grateful breath as its shadow drapes over you and shields you from the sun.  
  
The nurses are expecting you, you always visit after class and you’ve made an effort to be as friendly as you can with all of them, the doctors too. Not that you wouldn’t have been friendly otherwise, you were raised to be polite, after all, but they like you and feel sorry for you. They don’t mind when you stay past the hospital’s visiting hours and sometimes, when it’s quiet, they look the other way when you fall asleep in the chair beside his bed. You understand completely when they have to tell you to go home, you don’t want anyone risking their job for you, but when they let you stay, they know how grateful you are.  
  
“Hey there, you must be feeling brave today. Long pants, in this weather?” This nurse, her name is Heather, she’s the first sort-of friend you made here.  
  
You smile and make a joke about all your other clothes being covered in cat fur, she nods sympathetically, Heather has two cats and you’ve spotted a stray hair or two on her stockings in the past.  
  
“Any changes?” You ask out of habit, knowing they would have called you if anything had happened.  
  
She tells you exactly what you expected to hear. No changes. She also tells you that the doctor has already been in for his physical therapy, so your time together should be uninterrupted. You thank her and sign your name on the visitor’s log, you don’t mind the company on your visits, but sometimes it’s nice when it’s just you and him. It takes you back to before the accident, when you were sitting on the couch, his head resting on your legs as he reads aloud from your favourite book. You both knew every word off by heart, cover to cover, but you love the sound of his voice and on the odd occasion you asked, he couldn’t refuse you this small thing.  
  
“How are you doing? I mean, really?” She asks every now and again.  
  
You think for a second, now that you’ve signed in, you’re eager to see him, but you know she asks because she cares, so you take the time to answer honestly.  
  
“I’m okay, as okay as I can be until...” _Until he wakes up._ You don’t say it, but then again, you don’t have to.  
  
“Take care of yourself, alright?” She calls after you as you head for the elevator and you tell her you will.  
  
You press the button for the 4th floor and wait, tapping your foot absentmindedly to the soft music that filters through the aging speaker on the wall. You've become very familiar with the elevator music in the last two years, you don't really mind it, if you don’t focus too hard on it.  
  
_‘You’re more patient than you look.’_  
  
You’re relieved when the doors open and you step out of the enclosed space. There are times when you hear his voice as if he’s right there beside you, but really it’s just your own mind, saying things that you think he might say if he were there to say them. He’s not and you never quite forget it.  
  
You pass one of the doctors on your way to his room, you raise a hand in greeting and Sindra gives a little nod in response. You know she’d been on leave until recently, a young girl she’d known back in her hometown had passed away and she’d taken some time off to grieve. You only know this because you’d run into her on the way home from the library, you’d exchanged small talk and before you knew what was happening, she was crying on your shoulder and telling you the whole story. You make a mental note to talk with her before you leave tonight, that is, if you end up leaving tonight. You hope she’s found a way to make peace with Margaret’s death.  
  
“I’m coming in.” You announce yourself as you open the door to his room, another force of habit.  
  
The only sound that greets you is the warm, summer breeze and you see they’ve left the window open today, the curtains are pulled back and you can see the roof of the museum from here. Not for the first time, you think it’s a view truly befitting the room’s one and only occupant.  
  
Finally, you turn to face the bed, to look at him. He looks peaceful, he always does, chest rising and falling in a reliable rhythm. You move to his bedside and reach out to brush a stray lock of hair off his cheek, his hair is really quite long now, but you don’t suggest that they cut it. You reach back to run a hand through your own tied-up hair, originally just a side effect of neglecting your personal grooming, following your own release from the hospital. Now, you keep it long, as a way of affirming to yourself that time has continued to pass since the day you woke up and he didn’t.  
  
_‘It’s not that bad a look, suits you, really. I like it.’_  
  
“You, too.” You laugh out loud; there’s no one here to witness you conversing seemingly with thin air. “I think it makes me look more mature.”  
  
_‘In that regard, you definitely need all the help you can get. Lipstick on a pig, sound familiar?'_  
  
You take your usual seat by the bed, removing your bag and dropping it on the floor. “Feeling snarky, are we? Be nice or I won’t tell you about Mayvin’s lecture today.”  
  
_‘Alright, alright. What have you got for me?’_  
  
This is a pattern you follow, much like clockwork. You sit and tell him about your day, describing everything with as much detail as you can recall. You don’t know if he can actually hear you, the doctors tell you hearing the voice of a loved one can stimulate brain activity and at the very least, it can’t hurt. So, you do it, even if you’re convinced it’s more for your benefit than his.  
  
When you’re done telling him about your studies—something you’d planned to do together, once you both graduated—you take The Celestial Record out of your bag and settle in to read it aloud. Last time, you’d gotten up to the chapter on an enormous fossilized creature discovered in the Cambria Caverns.  
  
Before you know it, the sun has set and the only light in the room is the tiny one above the bed. It doesn’t seem like they’re going to ask you to leave tonight and you have class again tomorrow, you decide you should get some sleep. You know you’ll have to leave early, it wouldn’t do to show up unshowered and in the previous days’ clothes.  
  
You carefully return the book to your bag and push it underneath the chair, you don’t want any of the nurses tripping over it if they come in during the night. Reaching out to place your hand over his, you ask him to _please, wake up soon_ and let your eyes close.  
  
_‘Goodnight, Sorey.’_  
  
“Goodnight, Mikleo.”

**Author's Note:**

> If I do choose to continue this, it's only the first chapter that will be in this P.O.V. I wanted the role reversal to sort of be a surprise, I dunno how well I managed to pull it off with my writing.
> 
> Had a random idea about Sorey being the one to wait for Mikleo and lo-and-behold this was born. Not sure yet if I'll seriously pursue this idea, but I figured what the hell, see if anyone likes the idea and go from there.
> 
> I swear I'm still working on First Confluence, I'm a bit stuck on the next chapter and I'm trying to make it a little longer than previous chapters, so it's slow-going. I don't wanna force it and end up hating the fic, so working on other stuff helps me feel better lol


End file.
